“Now, Black,” broke in the voice of Bad
Pete, “you wanted this cub, and he’s all
yours! What are you going to do with him?”

CHAPTER XV

BLACK’S PLOT OPENS WITH A BANG

“Some mistake here, gentlemen,” interjected
Tom Reade coolly. “Unless I’m very
badly informed I don’t belong to either of you.
If anyone owns me, then I belong to the S.B. & L.”

“I told you I’d make you settle with me
for throwing me out of the camp,” remarked Black
disagreeably.

“You’re not out yet—–­more’s
the pity,” Tom retorted. “You will
be, however, as soon as the paymaster arrives.”

“You’re wrong,” jeered ’Gene.
“You’re out—–­from this
minute!”

“What do you mean?” Tom inquired, looking
Black steadily in the eye.

Yet the young chief engineer had a creepy realization
of just what the pair did mean. Black
must have confederates somewhere in the mountains
near. It was evidently the rascal’s intention
to seize Tom and carry him away where he would be held
a prisoner until he had lost all hope of regaining
his position at the head of the railroad’s field
force.

“You say that I’ll be thrown out of camp
very soon,” sneered Black. “The fact
is, you are not going back to camp.”

“What’s going to stop me?” Reade
inquired, with no sign of fear.

“You’re not going back to camp!”
Black insisted.

“Someone has been giving you the wrong tip,”
smiled Tom.

He started forward, brushing past Black. It
was mainly a pretense, for Reade had no notion but
that he would be stopped.

With a savage cry Black seized him by the shoulders.

Tom made a quick turn, shaking the fellow off.
While he was thus occupied Bad Pete slipped about,
and now confronted Reade. The muzzle of a revolver
was pressed against the young engineer’s belt.

“Hoist your hands!” ordered Pete warningly.

Tom obeyed, though he hoisted his hands only as far
as his mouth. Forming a megaphone, he gave vent
to a loud yell of:

“Roo-rup! roo-rup! roo-rup!”

It was one of the old High School yells of the good
old Gridley days—–­one of the yells
sometimes used as a signal of distress by famous old
Dick & Co., of which Tom Reade had been a shining
member.

On the still air of the mountain night that yell traveled
far and clearly. It was a call of penetrating
power, traveling farther than its sound would suggest.

“You do that again, you young coyote, and I’ll
begin to pump!” growled Bad Pete savagely.

“I won’t need to do it again,” Tom
returned. “Wait a few minutes, and you’ll
see.”

“Shall I drop him, Black?” inquired Pete.

’Gene Black was about to answer in the affirmative,
when a sound up the trail caught his attention.